


Stein goes to Therapy

by ThymeAtlas



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Post-Canon, Trans Character, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 11:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18151292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThymeAtlas/pseuds/ThymeAtlas
Summary: What it says on the tin. Stein works through some of his shit: self-hatred, intrusive thoughts, being in love with Spirit. You know.





	Stein goes to Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> stein: *googles cbt, does a single worksheet, gets bored, falls into a spiral of self hatred* cbt doesn't work on me  
> me: oh kin?
> 
> warning for the fic: spirit sets up a therapy appointment for stein without telling him or asking permission. this is framed as a bad thing to do, but stein ends up appreciating it.

Stein had gotten better, until Asura was released. Until the fight with Medusa, if he’s being honest, but he would prefer not to. Working as a doctor had given him the ability to cut people up in a way that helped them. Experimenting on himself, too, was better than making people mad at him. Not really talking with people allowed him to focus on his work, not sleeping allowed him to avoid nightmares.

He knew, logically, that the way he was living was probably unhealthy. It’s just that it didn’t impact his work, which was the important part of himself, and he didn’t hurt anyone, he helped people even, so it didn’t seem to matter. Marie told him, actually, many times, that how he was living was bad for him, and would bring him food if he hadn’t eaten, remind him to go to bed. At that point, though, he didn’t have any energy at all to focus on things like eating or sleeping, because he was trying not to tear off his skin.

She loved him, and he had to tell her that he didn’t (couldn’t) love her back, that even if he did he couldn’t give her what she actually wanted. He wasn’t fixable in the way she needed him to be. He wasn’t fixable at all; external madness aside there would always be some part of him with the urge to dissect and experiment and even kill. She thought she could get rid of that entirely.

It was proactive of him, he thinks, to warn her beforehand. He hasn’t had any close personal relationships since Spirit, ages ago, and although he’s learned since then that dissecting someone is _not_ the best way to react to a crush, he still isn’t a normal person and he can’t be.

He talked with Spirit later, after everything had calmed down. Or Spirit had talked to him, asked him quietly if he was all right, smiled slightly when Stein had said yes. And then they hadn’t talked for a while, because Spirit had to go bother Maka and Stein was avoiding Marie as she moved out. And then they hadn’t talked for another while, because Spirit had to help Lord Death deal with the aftermath and Stein was teaching. And then they do talk.

The kids are out for lunch break and Stein is trying to convince himself to start grading the latest assignment but is instead doodling on a piece of scratch paper. Spirit comes in without saying anything, sits on his desk, and Stein greets him without looking up, pretending that he’s actually working.

“Stein,” Spirit says. Stein looks at him. Doesn’t want to say “what do you want” because that seems rude, has already said hello.

Spirit isn’t facing him. Spirit is looking at the class seats and fiddling with his tie. Stein’s pretty sure that Spirit has stopped being afraid of him, or at least knows he isn’t in any direct danger. Moments like this make Stein doubt the trust he thinks they’ve rebuilt, and it hurts more than he likes to admit.

“How are you and Marie doing?” Spirit asks, finally.

“Fine,” says Stein. “She’s upset but she’ll get over it.”

“What?”

“What.”

“Are you not dating?” Spirit seems genuinely confused.

“I turned her down.”

“Oh.” Spirit seems confused still, and something else.

“You didn’t know? It happened pretty soon after Asura died.”

Spirit looks away again. “I haven’t really been talking with anyone but Lord Death. And I was away for a while with Sid hunting down a couple newly emerged witches.” Stein doesn’t flinch, but Spirit notices his discomfort anyway. “Nobody minds that you aren’t helping,” he continues, realizes his mistake, and overcorrects. “I mean, you are helping! By teaching! But not in the field. Which is fine. I understand not wanting to fight.”

Stein isn’t offended, really, is actually amused. He thinks that fighting might be nice; he likes feeling powerful, he likes connecting with another person for a specific cause. If he’s honest, he likes connecting with Spirit.

Stein doesn’t want to say that, though, so he just nods. He’s still doodling.

“Do you think you would ever want to fight again?”

“I like teaching,” says Stein. A non-answer.

“Look, do you think, ah—” he cuts himself off, scratches the back of his neck. “Have you ever thought, uh, about talking,” pause, “to someone?”

Stein doesn’t want to have this conversation. Stein talked to a lot of people as a kid and none of them had helped. Stein had talked to a lot more people that had made things worse.

“I’m talking to you, senpai,” he says instead, laughs at the face Spirit makes in response. He doesn’t really call Spirit senpai anymore, only sometimes. He thinks it’s funny, or maybe just nostalgic.

“You know what I mean,” says Spirit, moves closer to punch him, lightly, on the shoulder, doesn’t move back. Spirit is looking at him, now. Spirit seems concerned, and something else.

“Spirit,” starts Stein. He’s going to tell him to leave him alone, maybe, or that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, or just change the subject. Spirit interrupts him.

“I’m just worried about you,” he says.

Stein has had this conversation a lot. Stein knows how to deal with it.

“Worried I’ll hurt someone, you mean.”

“No,” says Spirit, “worried about _you_. Your health.” Stein is surprised, slightly, but he’s not going to show it. He’s working off the assumption that Lord Death asked Spirit to talk to him. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday,” says Stein. He doesn’t know.

“How much did you sleep last night?”

“A few hours.” It was 20 minutes, if that.

“You haven’t talked to anyone in weeks, other than your students.”

“That’s normal for me.” It is.

“It shouldn’t be,” says Spirit. “Have you worked through it? At all?”

“I don’t need that much.”

“Stein, Medusa drove you crazy.”

“And I’m fine now. Haven’t attacked my students for a whole day.”

Spirit laughs, argument seemingly over. Stein is relieved, turns back to his doodles. He might actually get some grading done. They sit in silence for a while, until the students are about to come back. Spirit takes a deep breath.

“I signed you up for an appointment at the therapist’s office a few blocks from here,” Spirit says in a rush, like it’s one word. “It’s a week from now, I already paid so you might as well go.”

“Spirit, what the fuck.”

“Sorry, bye,” Spirit yells, halfway out the door, dodging a herd of incoming students.

Stein sighs, and then teaches like a professional the rest of the day.

 

Stein willfully forgets about the appointment, wouldn’t have gone at all if Spirit hadn’t shown up after class the day of, embarrassed but deadest and still something else. So Stein had to.

There isn’t a receptionist. Stein sits in the only available chair in the tiny waiting room and waits for less than a minute before the door opens. Dr. Mauer is younger than he thought she’d be, and he’s worried, momentarily, that she’ll be more like Marie than his childhood psychiatrists, whom he hated, sure, but at least is used to.

“Dr. Stein?” she says, which he appreciates. At least he’s not being demeaned right off the bat.

He stands, follows her into her office, picks the chair with a full view of the door when given the choice.

“How are you?” she asks him, sitting on the chair opposite.

“Well,” he starts, “I’m in therapy.”

She laughs. “Right. So you didn’t set up your appointment,” she says, diving right into it.

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Well, you’re free to leave at any time, of course, but listen. Even if you never want to come back, the session is already paid for. You have a complete stranger you can tell whatever you want to for an hour. Why not do it?”

“Whatever I want?”

“Sure. Do you want to talk about Mr. Albarn?”

Stein had already lined up a lecture he gave to undergrads while getting his doctorate, but he pauses. Thinks why the hell not. Asks, instead, if she can divulge information to Spirit because he paid, and confirms that previous crimes are not reported. No and yes.

He ends up talking a lot about Spirit, too much, and is embarrassed when she asks, without judgement, if he plans on telling Spirit how he feels.

He laughs, actually. “Of course not. He wouldn’t want me. He might even already know. Disguising emotions while in resonance is hard.” Even if Spirit liked men, Stein himself is the problem here.

“All right,” she says. “That’s probably for the best, at least for now. I think you know already that your obsession with him is unhealthy.”

“I’ve worked with other people,” he says, but she’s right, of course.

She continues: “I actually think that’s the least of your problems, given what you’ve told me.”

“You mean my urge to dissect.” He’s prepared for this. Resigned to it.

“No,” she says. “Plenty of people have intrusive thoughts of violence. I’m worried about how you deal with them. Experimenting on yourself isn’t healthy. Neither is isolating yourself.”

“It’s not always experimenting. Sometimes I perform necessary surgeries.” One scar under each pectoral, not embellished.

“I’m not talking about that,” she says. She doesn’t look pointedly at his screw, but she might as well.

“I’m not hurting anybody.”

“You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t mind.” It’s the conversation with Spirit again. It’s nice that she’s realizes she can’t fix him entirely, but it’s still just a variant on a tired theme.

“Your friends do.”

“This is why I don’t like having friends.”

She smiles, faintly. “You know, there are other ways to deal with intrusive thoughts.”

“I’m not taking medication.”

“I can’t prescribe you anything. I’m not a psychiatrist. I mean behavioral therapy.”

“That doesn’t work, either.”

“Who were you working with, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Myself,” he says. “I don’t like therapists.”

“I’ve gathered. I will say that it’s more effective when you’re working someone. You’re very self-aware, but you aren’t forgiving of yourself.”

“I teach,” he says. “I trust myself to be in charge of children.”

“But not to form bonds with them. Or with others.”

“I’m a dangerous person.”

“You _were_ dangerous, as a child who didn’t know better. You developed ways to deal with your urges, which worked for a while, but your coping mechanisms are hurting you now. I want to help you find a way to both deal with your thoughts and take care of yourself.”

Stein doesn’t know how to argue with that, other than an innate knowledge that it won’t work, that it’s a waste of time. But she doesn’t seem to accept that.

“Let me give you more information.” She goes to her desk before he responds, digs through a drawer and produces a sheet of paper.

He scans it, wearily, inwardly rolls his eyes at mindfulness techniques, and looks back up at her, bored.

“Think about it,” she says.

It’s the end of the session, he realizes. It’s been an hour. It wasn’t actually horrible, he thinks. It helps, probably, that she can’t recommend him drugs that he’d just feel guilty for not taking. It helps that she let him talk about stupid things for most of the time.

He folds the sheet and puts it in his pocket.

 

“So how was it?” asks Spirit, almost immediately the next day, hovering in his door half an hour before school starts.

“Not awful. Why did you make an appointment for me.” He doesn’t say it like a question. He isn’t really angry anymore, especially not after talking about how much he cares for the man for an hour, but that doesn’t make it all right.

“Ah.” Spirit is embarrassed again. “Well, I care about you, you know? And I knew you wouldn’t go of your own accord. Sorry.” He’s blushing, actually, which is cute.

“Don’t do it again,” says Stein.

“I won’t.”

Stein lights a cigarette, and they sit in silence for a bit. Spirit is fidgeting. Stein knows that Spirit wants to ask if he’s going to go back, but he doesn’t, and Stein appreciates that.

“Can I have one of those?” Spirit asks after a while.

Stein passes him a cigarette, lights it for him. Their fingers brush as Spirit’s hand cups the flame, and Spirit doesn’t flinch. They smoke together, ashing into Stein’s Styrofoam coffee cup, empty ten minutes after purchasing. Stein makes his own coffee, usually, but this morning he didn’t have time; he’d actually slept last night.

Spirit leaves before students start coming in, stretching when he gets off the desk. Stein watches him go, thinking. Spirit had looked like he knew he fucked up and felt bad about it. Stein had never really felt bad about what he’d done to Spirit. Sure, he realized that it wasn’t acceptable, sure he hated that it broke their trust, sure he referenced it, first, when anyone doubted that he was a bad person. But the act itself, cutting him open, a moment of pure intimacy—it felt good. He will never do it again, but he probably will never stop wanting to, either.

Spirit is overemotional. Spirit is impulsive, and needs to please people, and hurts others without realizing it. Spirit, thinks Stein, is a much better person than he’ll ever be.

Stein doesn’t know if he’s going to go back to Dr. Mauer. At some point, she’ll want him to change in some way, and he doesn’t want to change what works. Or, did work. He’s not really sure anymore. But it was nice to talk to an unbiased and uninvolved listener. It was nice to hear that Spirit cares about him.

He did sleep last night, for multiple hours. In his dreams he was completely free again, with Medusa, able to let go of the self-control he’s so carefully built up over the last couple decades. He didn’t care about Spirit, or his coworkers, or his students. It was wonderful, really, to be able to take them apart without guilt. He woke up shaking, made a full 10 rotations of the screw before he calmed down. This is why he doesn’t sleep.

A week passes without Stein calling to make another appointment. In that time, Spirit never bugs him about it, but they talk almost every day, in the classroom or out on the balcony.

“Are you sure you’re not just being nice to me so Maka gets a good grade?” Stein jokes, leaning over the railing. Their elbows are touching.

“My Maka is smarter than everyone else in the school!” says Spirit, horribly offended. “She doesn’t need my help to get an A.”

Stein looks at him. “That’s true,” he says, level. Saving the entire world gives Maka an A automatically, but even if it didn’t she’d be top of the class.

Spirit smiles, suddenly. “Then it’s working!”

Stein laughs, nudges him. They’ve been nudging each other a lot, he muses. It’s just something Spirit does. Stein thinks it’s good that he’s interacting more. He’s ignoring his “unhealthy obsession” with Spirit for now: he likes that they can be friends, at least. He likes that they’ve regained trust. Another reason that Stein doesn’t really want to see Mauer again is that she’ll probably ask him to talk to other people, too. This is enough for now, he thinks. This is just fine.

“Can I have a cigarette?” asks Spirit. He never buys his own; ostensibly, he quit years ago, but he smokes with Stein more often than not. Stein doesn’t mind that he runs through his packs twice as fast now.

“Shit,” says Stein, patting his pocket. “I left the pack on my desk.” He had been lighting this one when Spirit walked by, tilted his head towards the balcony door.

Spirit takes the cigarette from Stein’s hand without asking, breathes in slowly, and gives it back. Grins sheepishly after blowing the smoke out over campus. “Sorry,” he says. Doesn’t look it. Stein smokes the rest of it normally. His brain is overreacting. He hates to think of this as an indirect kiss; he’s a grown man. He’s seen Spirit’s _organs_ , this should not be a big deal.

He’s known for a while that he’s fucked, but it wasn’t a problem when they didn’t see each other for all those years. It was more of one once they started fighting together again, but Spirit’s apprehension about their reunion was enough not to get Stein’s hopes up. Now, though—

Stein drops the cigarette over the balcony when he finishes, and Spirit tells him not to litter, which he laughs at. When the bell rings a couple minutes later, Spirit nudges his arm again, says “come on” as he walks back into the building. Stein follows, blinking at the shift in light. Spirit smiles at him when he leaves.

—Stein is fucked.

 

“Dr. Stein!” Mauer’s voice crackles over the phone. “I’m so glad you decided to make another appointment.”

He hums in a way that could be taken as agreement, asks what times she has available outside of his work hours.

“So, what made you decide to come back?” she asked a few days later, after he’d sat down in the same chair as before. He can’t tell her. He doesn’t want to admit that he may have less manageable feelings for Spirit than previously thought, doesn’t want to have to change something that isn’t giving him nightmares at least.

“I was driven completely mad by a witch,” he says instead. “Very easily.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been terrifying.”

“For a bit. And then it was really, really fun.” He doesn’t really want to say anything that’s not common knowledge, at least within the DWMA. He doesn’t really know why he came back, knowing that he wouldn’t actually want to tell her anything.

“In what way?”

“I didn’t have to worry about anything I was doing.”

“Do you worry a lot?”

“Of course.” Stein doesn’t have qualms with the actual act of hurting people. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t consider what he does to be particularly hurtful. But he’s realized, over time, that other people consider that it is, and he doesn’t want that. He wants to learn, mostly. Sometimes, though, he does want specifically to cause harm. He does, sometimes, genuinely enjoy committing violent acts. “I interpret actions differently than others. And I want to harm them.”

“But you usually don’t hurt people.”

“Usually.”

“That’s good. What do you do, usually, when you want to hurt someone?”

“I scare them instead.”

“To make them leave you alone, or as a lesser version of physical violence?”

He pauses for a second. “Both.” It’s really more of the latter, and the former is a bonus.

She definitely knows he’s lying, but doesn’t press him. “How do you scare people?”

“I’m a mad scientist. It’s not hard.”

“Have you read through that paper I gave you?”

“I skimmed it.” He hasn’t looked at it since the first appointment. It’s been sitting in his pocket, underneath spare change and gum wrappers and his extra lighter.

“I ask because I want to talk specifically about your self-image.”

“You said that last time.”

“Right. You’re extremely aware of your capabilities, both good and bad, as well as your specific faults.”

“I have to be.”

“I’m not criticizing you for that. But I do think you ignore the positive parts of yourself, outside of your specialized skillset.”

“You mean my work and my teaching.”

“Exactly. For example, you have a tremendous amount of self-control.”

“If I had self-control, I wouldn’t hurt people in the first place.”

“That’s not true. It’s very hard to ignore such strong urges. The fact that you have done so since your childhood, when you had no way of knowing how to deal with them, is telling.”

“I don’t ignore them. I think about them nearly constantly.”

“And yet you don’t act on them. You can be proud of yourself for that.”

“Proud for being not as horrible as I could be?”

“You’re not horrible. You seem to be a caring person, struggling with some really hard issues. From what you’ve told me, multiple people care about and want to help you: Spirit, Marie, your students.”

“They don’t really know me,” he says. “Neither do you. If I said what I’m really feeling or thinking, they’d hate me.”

“I want you to try something.”

“What.”

“Tell one thing you think would make them hate you to one of your friends.”

“So you’re trying to isolate me even more. Some therapist you are.”

“You’re also funny.”

“Hm?”

“Positives about yourself. You’re funny.”

“Complementing me won’t make me tell people horrible things.”

“Alright,” she says. “We don’t have to do something you’re not comfortable with. But I do want you to try something else.”

He stares at her until she continues.

“For the next week, whenever you think negatively about yourself, I’d like you to think of all the evidence for _and against_ whatever you’re thinking.”

“Why for a week?” he asks, ignoring her emphasis on against. He only counts the evidence for, he knows, but often there isn’t immediate evidence in contradiction.

“I was assuming you’d come back next week at the same time.”

“Oh.”

“No pressure. But I would at least like to see if you change a little about how you think about yourself.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll keep the spot open. Call 24 hours in advance to cancel if you don’t want to come.”

He nods.

“All right. We still have nearly half an hour. Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”

He’d like to talk about Spirit, but he doesn’t. He talks about Marie instead, how he never could have been she wanted, no matter how hard she tried.

“That’s unfair of her.”

“What?”

“The way you’re telling it, she made you feel like you had to be completely neurotypical.”

“I should be.”

“Well, that’s your problem. You can’t be, and you shouldn’t _have_ to be. You have a responsibility to yourself to accept what you can’t change. The major problem your illness presents—the want to harm others—you are already dealing with. You could probably deal with it better, and that’s why I want to help you. Not because I think you shouldn’t be mentally ill at all.”

Stein sits in silence for a while. He can see that he’s not going to get anywhere; of course she would say that. She’s had sensitivity training. What she hasn’t done is live in Stein’s head all his life. She doesn’t know how bad he can get, no matter how much he tries to tell her.

But he would, he thinks, like to deal with his violent urges better. Since Medusa, it’s been harder. If she can help him that way, he can play along with her in the others.

So he says, “I think I’ll come back next week.”

“Great!” she says. “Remember to consider evidence _against_ your assumptions about yourself.”

“Right.”

 

Spirit is happy to know that Stein is going to therapy regularly now. He says as much after school a couple weeks later; they’re on the balcony again.

“That’s really good,” he says. “I think it will help a lot.”

At this point, Stein agrees, if only because it’s probably good to stop bottling his thoughts and feelings every once in a while. He makes a non-committal noise at Spirit, though, because he really doesn’t want Spirit to start signing him up for more things or forcing him to eat or whatever other well-meaning stuff he might think of.

“Is it helping?”

“I’ve been to four sessions,” says Stein. “We’ve barely covered my childhood.”

Spirit laughs. “It’s just that,” he looks away abruptly, starts fixing his cuff, “I care about you, you know? I want you to feel better.”

“Oh,” says Stein. He isn’t blushing. “Thanks.” And then, after too long, “I care about you, too.”

“Don’t force it,” says Spirit, laughing again. Stein smiles, or does his own equivalent, head tilted. They just stand for a while, smiling, watching students mill around on the field below. Stein knows that Spirit wants to tell him something; it’s been on his mind all day, swirling at the edge of his soul.

They make idle chatter for a bit, Spirit mentioning some of the fights he’s had off-campus, dancing, more subtly than before, around the topic of witches. Stein thinks it’s almost sweet. Of course, Stein is still distracted by Spirit caring about him—his voice is playing on repeat in his head.

“I trust you,” says Spirit, eventually, once their conversation has dried up. “I don’t forgive you, and I won’t, probably, but I do trust you now.”

“I trust you, too,” says Stein. He doesn’t hesitate this time. “And I understand.”

“Good,” says Spirit. And then, “Do you want to start training together again? Just for fun?”

Stein thinks that Spirit must be lonely. His ex-wife is off traveling, and most of the other Death Scythes have returned to their posts all over the world. He’s friendly with the other teachers, but not particularly close. Maka doesn’t even like him.

“Yes,” says Stein, and Spirit smiles, fully.

Stein thinks, maybe it’s not just that Spirit is lonely. Maybe he genuinely wants to rebuild their partnership, now that Stein is at least trying to be a better person. He remembers his homework, and, well, he’s nothing if not a good student. Evidence against: their whole history, and Spirit doesn’t forgive him. Not that he asked to be forgiven, of course, and it’s completely reasonable for Spirit not to, but still. It hurts. Evidence for: Spirit cares about him, he trusts him, and he’s happy that Spirit wants to work with him. Obviously not a basis for a romantic relationship, but they can be friends again.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” asks Stein. This, at least, should get a yes in response.

“We should probably eat first,” says Spirit. “I get hungover when I drink on an empty stomach.”

Stein looks at him, sidelong, skeptical.

“Well, more hungover, anyway.”

Which is how they end up at a kind of shitty take out place, from which they didn’t actually take out. They’re sitting at a booth, across from each other. The waitstaff all seem to know Spirit, so he probably comes here a lot. Stein knows that Spirit can cook, and guesses that he might be too busy a lot of the time, or maybe just wants to eat around people.

Stein dislikes eating around people and generally isn’t prepared when he wants something more than an apple or energy bar. He eats a lot of instant dinners.

Spirit is halfway through a story about one of the girls at Chupa Cabra’s, making it very obvious that this is Not A Date, and Stein is listening, actually, which he tends not to do when he’s bored.

“I just can’t believe she forgot it was Maka’s half birthday!” Spirit is ranting, leaning too far over the table. “I talk about it every year!”

“She’s paid to listen to you, senpai,” says Stein. “She doesn’t actually care.”

“I know,” says Spirit, settling back. “I guess I just wish I was married again, with someone who remembered stuff like that.”

“Like marriage worked out so well the first time.” Stein doesn’t say that Spirit’s ex probably wouldn’t have remembered that either; she hasn’t been back from her travels since the divorce, and from what he’s heard, she didn’t stay at home that much before it, either.

“That’s my fault,” says Spirit.

Stein doesn’t answer. All he could do is some version of an affirmation.

Spirit shakes his head. “Let’s not talk about this. Did you hear that Lord Death has given up on moving Death City back?”

“They’re going to have to change so many maps.”

“And make so many new roads,” says Spirit. “I have to help oversee this shit!”

“Did you get a degree in city planning or something?”

“No! I’m just automatically high-ranking, and this doesn’t count as an emergency so Lord Death doesn’t want to bother the other Death Scythes.”

“Good luck.”

“You’re so mean,” says Spirit, but he’s smiling. “I’m going to use the restroom, and then do you want to go?”

“Sure,” says Stein. He pays at the counter as soon as Spirit is out of sight.

“You didn’t need to do that,” says Spirit as they’re walking down the street.

“I know.” He wanted to. He can do nice things for people sometimes, but it helps when the person is someone he’s been in love with for a decade. It also helps when the nice thing is buying cheap food. This is another one of his assignments: take note of when he does things he would signify as unselfish and also unnecessary—not sacrificing himself, but sharing cigarettes—so he can remind himself that he’s not always terrible. Mostly what it does is make him horribly aware of how often he does things for Spirit, but it’s not his fault that most of the people he knows are in other countries. He doesn’t think that helping his students counts.

Spirit smiles, nudges him again. “Alright, but I’m getting the drinks.”

“Okay.”

Spirit had never moved back away, and now their arms brush as they walk. Neither of them acknowledge it, and neither of them change it. They’re headed towards Stein’s favorite bar, which is a lot quieter and darker and less filled with women than the places Spirit generally goes. Stein doesn’t come here much, actually, doesn’t like to drink in front of people, but he thinks the music they play is good and no one tries to talk to him here. Azusa took him here, ages ago, and it feels like her still.

“Oh,” says Spirit when they walk in. “This is nice.” He says it in a way where he doesn’t seem quite sure.

“I like the music,” says Stein. It’s some sort of jazz coming over the speakers, upbeat.

Spirit listens a bit. “Yeah,” he agrees, “it’s good.” They sit at the bar because all the booths are taken. Spirit orders wine, of course, and Stein gets a beer even though he doesn’t really like them. Generally, he drinks to get drunk, but he feels like that probably isn’t appropriate here.

Spirit shifts, awkwardly, on his stool, and Stein is feeling more and more that this was a bad idea, that they don’t have anything to talk about outside of work and their shared experiences, that they’re actually incredibly different people and they probably shouldn’t be trying to be friends outside of DWMA in the first place.

“What have you been doing lately?” Stein asks, instead of voicing any sort of concern. “Aside from city planning, I mean.”

Spirit rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Actually,” he says, embarrassed, “not that much. Most of the major threats have been taken care of, so we’re leaving the rest of the fighting for the students.”

“Right,” says Stein. He knew this already, still consults at meetings with Lord Death even if he’s not going off fighting himself.

“I guess you knew that,” says Spirit.

Stein shrugs. “I was actually asking about your personal life.”

Spirit flat-out laughs at him.

“Yeah, I thought it was funny, too,” says Stein.

“You and Lord Death are the only people I talk to who I don’t pay,” says Spirit.

“Well, yeah,” says Stein. “Me too. But I’ve taken up knitting.”

Spirit laughs again. “You? Knitting?”

“I’m ‘redirecting my nervous energy,’” explains Stein, making the air quotes. “It’s calming, actually. Do you want a scarf? I have a lot of scarves.”

“Maybe,” says Spirit. “Now I feel like I need a hobby. I don’t do anything.”

“I have a lot of yarn.”

“That’s fine,” says Spirit. “I might start actually cooking again.”

“That sounds good,” says Stein.

 

Stein hasn’t taken up knitting. Stein hasn’t talked about his childhood. Stein hasn’t even spent a long time going over his failing coping mechanisms. What Stein _has_ done is examine, in detail, exactly where he went wrong in his strange rivalry-slash-romance with Medusa.

“Why, exactly,” says Mauer, “didn’t you tell anyone when you first realized Medusa was a witch.”

“Because she was so smart,” says Stein. “I wanted to see what she’d do.”

“Were you worried that she’d hurt anyone?”

“I knew I could stop her.”

“And you did.”

He nods.

“But she got in your head anyway.”

“If I had been stronger, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Or if you had asked for help.”

“I shouldn’t have needed it.”

Their sessions usually end up here. He knows that he’s at fault for something, and she tries to convince him that he isn’t. It’s not very helpful, but the talking does make him feel better and the homework she’s given him works sometimes. She did actually suggest that he should pick up a hobby to direct energy towards, but he hasn’t yet. He does know how to knit, though. He learned as a kid.

“We don’t have to have this argument again,” she says. “Just realize that everyone has weaknesses, and it’s not shameful for you to have one, either.”

He nods, they move on. He doesn’t say that he’s started training with Spirit again, that Spirit falling into his hands feels like coming home.

 

Sometimes, when he and Spirit are standing on the balcony, they don’t talk. They just stand there, looking out over campus, where kids are fighting or playing, and smoke quietly. Their forearms on the railing, elbows touching, not looking at each other but comfortable in each other’s presence. It’s nice, thinks Stein. It’s probably not enough to make him stop thinking about peeling back Spirit’s skin, nestling inside him. He’ll probably always want to.

He’s not going to, at least. He hasn’t been experimenting on himself either; he’s taken to bending wires into strange shapes, connecting them together. The edges pierce the tips of his fingers, but he figures this is more constructive than whatever else he could be doing. This counts as a hobby, probably, and he’ll tell Mauer next session—he started doing this after the knitting talk.

He goes to the bar with Spirit now, after their workouts together. It’s weird, but nice. They don’t usually drink a lot—it’s more of a bonding thing—but this time they are for some reason. Spirit was in a bad mood today, and Stein realizes, suddenly, that it’s been a year since his divorce.

“Are you alright,” he says, deadpan, as Spirit finishes his fifth glass.

“Obviously,” says Spirit, tilting in the booth. He’s taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves. He looks good, actually, but Stein is also worried that he’s going to fall over.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Of course not,” says Spirit.

“Oh good,” says Stein. “Did you want to drink instead?” He’s not sure if he’s joking or not.

“Obviously,” Spirit says again. They bought the whole bottle of red, the second of the night, and Spirit spills a little on the table as he pours. Stein wipes it away. He’s going to cut Spirit off after two more glasses, but Spirit does it himself, standing up abruptly.

“Do you want me to get you a cab?” asks Stein.

“No,” says Spirit, “I didn’t mean I was done with _you_ , just the bar. Do you want to come over?” His head is tilted sideways and he’s smiling. He doesn’t mean it like that, of course. Stein has never seen his apartment.

“Sure,” says Stein. He’s not drunk, not really, but he’s in an agreeable mood.

Spirit leans on him as they make their way through the city, and if Stein leans back it’s just because he wants to. Spirit’s hand brushes against his—an accident. By the time they get to Spirit’s building, Stein is very glad this is something he already knows how to deal with.

Spirit unlocks the door on only his second try, but Stein laughs at him anyway. Spirit pretends to be offended, the effect ruined when he almost trips taking off his shoes. His place is pretty messy, but at least it looks lived in. Stein thinks, vaguely, of when Marie lived with him, feels a wave of guilt, stamps it out. They wouldn’t have worked out anyway. He’s been over this.

“Nice place,” says Stein, picking up an empty beer can from the coffee table.

Spirit has the decency to look at least a little embarrassed. “It’s not like I have a lot of time for cleaning,” he says, even though he definitely does.

Stein puts the can back down, because he doesn’t really want to clean right now. He’s not _very_ drunk, but it’s enough to be less annoyed with Spirit’s mess than he would normally be. It’s not like his work station is any better.

Spirit sits heavily down on the couch, letting out a sigh. “Why did we walk? Didn’t you mention a cab?”

Stein laughs at him, making his way to the kitchen. “You’re just lazy, senpai. Walking’s good for you.” The fridge is mostly filled with takeout boxes, which, to be fair, is better than his own. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine in the door which he grabs and brings back to the living room. He sits on the couch, not on a chair and probably too close to Spirit, but Spirit just leans on him, not seeming to mind. Stein drinks straight from the bottle.

“Ugh,” says Spirit, “gross. Get a glass.”

“I don’t know where your glasses are,” says Stein, even though finding one would only take opening a couple cabinets.

Spirit evaluates this, decides it’s not worth the effort to get up himself. “Whatever,” he says. “Let me have some.”

They stay like that, for a while.

“Hey,” says Spirit, later. He’s still leaning against Stein and he seems pretty tired. “Thanks.”

“Hm?”

“For not bringing it up. You know. And not making fun of me.”

“I make fun of you all the time.”

“Yeah,” says Spirit, strangely agreeable, and knocks their heads together.

Stein laughs softly, just a little, and nudges Spirit back.

“What?” asks Spirit.

“Nothing,” says Stein. He’s still smiling.

“Oh,” says Spirit, in a moment of clarity, “you’re in love with me.”

Stein stiffens. “Yes,” he says. No point now in denying it. He stands up, dizzy. “I’ll leave.”

Spirit grabs his wrist. “Wait,” he says. “Idiot. I want to try this too.”

“Oh.” This is better than he hoped, of course. Spirit’s attracted to him, at least. Spirit likes him in some capacity.

“Right,” says Spirit. He stands also, moves his hand to hold Stein’s. “Can I kiss you?”

“Obviously,” says Stein. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Right,” Spirit says again, and kisses him. They sit back down.

“You know I’ve been flirting with you for a while now,” says Spirit.

“I wasn’t sure.”

“And you’re usually so good at reading people.”

“I’ve been mistaken in the past.”

“I’m glad we met up again.”

“Me too,” says Stein. It takes a lot out of him.

“Look,” says Spirit, “let’s go out for dinner sometime.”

“Is this just a long-term ploy to get me to eat more?”

“You got me. How about coffee, then?”

“That sounds nice.” He smiles, genuinely. Spirit smiles back.

 

Spirit tells him he can sleep on the couch, and immediately passes out on his own bed, on top of the covers. Stein doesn’t take up the offer, walks home instead. It’s colder now, and the silence of the city around him seeps into his skull. It’s peaceful. He has nightmares of course, but it seems easier to recover from them in the morning.

 

“Spirit and I went on a date,” he says, like he’s proving her wrong somehow.

“Oh wow,” she says. “How did that go?”

“He’s weirdly romantic,” says Stein. “It’s sweet, kind of.”

“Romantic how?”

“Pulling out my chair for me, even though we were just in a coffee shop. And he insisted on paying.”

“Was it weird because you’d rather do those things for him?”

“No,” says Stein, even though that might have been part of it. “He’s treating me like he treated his girlfriends in school. I don’t think he knows any other way to date someone.”

“You’re probably right,” says Mauer. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”

“Yes,” he says. At some point.

“That’s good,” she says. “You seem to be approaching this relationship healthily.”

“Thanks.” He hasn’t forgotten the “obsession” remark, and she hasn’t either.

“Did you have any intrusive thoughts regarding him?”

“No more than usual.”

“That’s good,” she says again. “Remember that even if you do, it doesn’t mean that you’ll act on them, or that you’re a danger to him.”

“I know.” He is a danger to Spirit, in that he’s a danger to everyone. But he’s accepted that it’s extremely unlikely that he’s going to snap and kill everyone. They move on.

 

“Are you dating my dad?” asks Maka during break.

“Uh,” says Stein eloquently, over the top of his coffee cup.

“You know that he’s an awful partner, right?”

“I might have heard something.” Stein doesn’t think it’s really his place to tell Maka that her mom wasn’t that good of a partner either. He also thinks Spirit would prefer he not tell Maka details about her parents’ relationship.

Maka squints at him for a second. “You could do better.”

Stein keeps himself from laughing.

 

“Maka thinks I’m too good for you,” he tells Spirit later that day, on the balcony again.

“She told you that too?” Spirit asks morosely. “Why does she like you so much?”

“I’m just that good of a teacher.” It’s too soon, Stein thinks, to joke about Spirit cheating on his wife.

“Maybe I should start teaching,” Spirit muses.

“You’re not busy enough already?”

Sprit grimaces. “I don’t want to think about work.”

“What do you want to think about?” asks Stein, leaning on the railing.

Spirit grins at him. “You.”

“Let’s go out tonight,” says Stein.

Spirit’s grin softens into a smile.

 

Stein doesn’t know how to date any more than Spirit does, so they do end up going out to dinner. Spirit flirts with the waitress without even noticing, and Stein laughs at him over his single appetizer.

“Sorry,” says Spirit, “I do want to date just you. You know that, right?” He actually looks worried.

“That’s just how you talk to people, senpai,” says Stein. “You like being liked.” It’s a relief, of course, for Spirit to confirm his interest, but it’s not like Stein expects him to stop wanting attention from everyone in a five-mile radius.

“You make me sound so desperate.”

“Well,” says Stein, and Spirit pretends to look angry. “Let’s go back to my place,” he says, instead of insulting Spirit further. Spirit waves for the check.

 

Stein is embarrassed to admit that he hasn’t had sex before, hasn’t even masturbated that much. He just doesn’t feel the need, usually, and when he does, he’d prefer not to have a casual hookup, or at least not one that goes beyond making out and blowing the guy. Coming out is an intimate act, and he doesn’t want to bare that much of himself just to get off, especially before men that might react badly. Actually dating someone was, of course, out of the question.

Spirit knows, though. Spirit met him before he transitioned, and Spirit was always good about it, even during their fallout. Now, with Spirit straddling him, hands in his hair, breathing hard, Stein feels like he could actually fuck him. Spirit kisses him again, and Stein wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer. Their mouths are open, and they’re probably getting drool everywhere, and Stein can feel himself getting wet just as much as he can feel Spirit’s bulge, a soft pressure against his stomach.

Stein runs his hand down Spirit’s back, wiggles a finger under his waistband. Spirit’s breath hitches, slightly, and he tugs a little on Stein’s hair, moves his other hand to Stein’s hip. They pull apart, just barely, breathing into each other’s mouths.

“How do you want to do this?” Spirit asks. He’s scratching at the nape of Stein’s neck.

“I don’t have a strap-on,” says Stein. He thinks that he would prefer to top, but it’s not like he has a large frame of reference.

“Would you be okay with me fucking you?”

“Yeah.” He kisses Spirit’s jaw. “Do you have condoms?”

“Fuck.”

“Me neither.” He’s made his way to the intersection of jaw and neck, bites Spirit’s skin. “It’s okay. We can do other things.” He moves to unbutton Spirit’s pants.

“Ah—let’s move to your bedroom.” He stands up. His erection is obvious, hair messy, flushed, and Stein feels proud, maybe, that _he_ did this to Spirit. That he could have such an effect. He probably doesn’t look much neater.

He stands too, leads Spirit to the bedroom he only rarely uses, and stops once inside. He’s not exactly sure how to proceed.

Spirit kisses him then, softly, puts his arms around Stein’s neck, and Stein just holds him for a bit. And then he gets impatient, has too much energy, and pushes Spirit towards the bed. Spirit laughs a little into his mouth, steps further backwards without letting go, and, without looking, stumbles onto the bed. He’s sitting now, and Stein leans down to kiss him again, reaches up his hands to unbutton Spirit’s shirt.

“Don’t bother,” says Spirit, and pulls it over his head. His torso is a map of Stein’s repressed love. They’re faded now, barely visible, but Stein knows where each scar is.

“I’m sorry,” he says, for the first time. In that moment, he is. He’s sorry he didn’t know to kiss Spirit deeply, to break through his ribs to his heart in a metaphorical rather than physical way. He’s sorry it took this long. He’s sorry Spirit ever doubted that he loves him.

“I know,” says Spirit. “Don’t do it again. Take off your shirt.”

Stein won’t, and Stein does.


End file.
